It was below these photos that Cameron sadly learned the reason Emory had become CEO of his company. The second he saw the memorial Emory had shared the previous summer, commemorating the three-year anniversary of his father’s death, Cameron wished he’d never listened to Shay. He’d been worried Emory might be a creep, but it turned out Cameron was the creep.
He wasn’t looking forward to fessing up to this overstep, but he figured he’d probably have to. His skin had prickled in that old familiar way, and his octopus had cowered in fear at the mistake. He’d closed out of social media and hadn’t looked at it again.
He’d learned enough about Emory through their texting that he thought he could maintain a decent conversation for at least their first date. Although… maybe he could do a little moreresearch to prepare himself. He found himself reaching for his phone again. Perhaps he could start the date with a rousing conversation on climate policies.
Shay had teased him about this, too. He knew he probably shouldn’t treat dating like a job interview, something he could pass or fail. He wanted to try and make this thing work, though, and he hoped Emory felt the same. If they really hit it off today, maybe it would be the first step in their successful romance.
Or…something.
Finally giving in, Cameron got lost in his research until movement across the street caught his eye. A black town car had pulled up in front of the restaurant, and it idled there for a few moments before pulling away, revealing a figure disappearing into the restaurant. Cameron checked the time and saw it was a quarter till.
If Emory could be early, so could he.
He tried to remain calm, but his octopus was bouncing up and down, and he found himself scrambling out of his chair, hastily grabbing his jacket, and rushing out of the cafe. His eyes barely had time to adjust to the dark street before he was barreling into the heavy oak door.
His octopus gave one final bounce and then fell utterly still as Cameron entered the restaurant’s foyer. It gave Cameron just enough warning to glance up and avoid running face-first into his fated mate. Again.
His shoes made a horrible squeaking noise on the tile floor as he pulled up short, but Emory didn’t even blink.
“Well, hello,” he said, his voice somewhere between a purr and a growl. It was so much richer than Cameron had remembered, and his octopus’ tentacles quivered at the sound.
“Hi,” Cameron whispered.
Emory smiled warmly at him but made no move to approach.
“You… It’s…cold out, huh?” Cameron stammered.
His octopus slapped a tentacle against his forehead in an uncanny mimicry of the way Cameron wanted to face-palm. After all the preparation he’d done, that was truly the best he could come up with?
Emory tipped his head, thankfully not addressing Cameron’s awkward intro. He had his jacket draped over his arm, and in an impressively smooth move, he unfurled it and placed it over Cameron’s shoulders.
The well-dressed hostess watched them from behind her stand, and Cameron did his best not to melt into a puddle on the floor. He should probably say something, even just a thank you, but his mind was strangely blank. He’d come up with over eleven topics of conversation, rehearsed three practice openers in the mirror, and Emory’s mere presence had derailed his thoughts entirely. Silence stretched out between them until the hostess cleared her throat, shooting Cameron a sympathetic look before gesturing for them to follow her.
As they walked down a long hallway, Cameron tried his best to calm his octopus and gather his thoughts. Naturally, he somehow managed to stumble over one of the ornate carpets. He came way too close to grabbing onto a bust of Julius Caesar. Thankfully, before he could destroy decor and ruin their date before it even started, Emory steadied him with a hand on the middle of his back.
Just like in the airport, the touch instantly soothed him. His octopus settled, and Cameron’s stride evened out as they continued down the hall.
Emory subtly tipped his head down to look at Cameron, and his warm breath ghosted across Cameron’s neck. “Would it make you feel any better to know I’m a bit nervous, too?”
Cameron’s steps faltered, but Emory pressed firmly on his back to keep him moving forward. His octopus wrapped his tentacles around himself in a hug, and Cameron desperatelywished to be in Emory’s arms again. He should have hugged him in the entrance hall. Instead, he had to settle for leaning into Emory’s guiding touch.
When they arrived, the host waved a showy hand at their table. It was adorned with folded napkins shaped like swans, several wine glasses per person, a set of beautiful candles, and enough silverware to stock a four-person household. When Emory suggested the restaurant, Cameron had looked it up and noted it was pretty fancy. He hadn’t known it wasthisfancy, though. The napkins looked better made than Cameron’s winter coat, and the tablecloth was pristine, not a wrinkle in sight. There was even something luxurious about the smell in the room, a mix of rich sauces and expensive perfumes.
Cameron hesitated beside the table. Despite his admission, Emory looked completely unruffled. Before Cameron could ask if he had a preferred seat, Emory pulled out a chair for Cameron.
While his octopus swooned, Cameron collapsed gracelessly into the chair, and Emory removed his jacket from around Cameron’s shoulders before taking his own seat.
“May I start you off with some wine?” the host asked, and Emory inclined his head to Cameron.
“Uhm,” he squeaked, glancing desperately around for a wine list. He wasn’t a big drinker, and he wanted to be careful not to get too drunk tonight. He was pretty sure that Emory wasn’t some creep, but he could never be too careful. Thomas had seemed charming and lovely at first, too.
Cameron flipped through pages of the menu, trying to remember the name of even a single wine he’d ever had before. He startled when Emory’s hand appeared on top of his menu, palm facing up. Cameron stared at it for a moment, wondering if perhaps he’d be able to find the correct answer written in Emory’s lifeline.
Emory flexed his fingers, and Cameron’s octopus caught on before he did. He slapped his hand down into Emory’s, causing the superfluous glasses on the table to shake. Cameron's blush burned across his cheeks, but Emory paid it no mind. His eyes bore into Cameron’s in a way that made it feel like they were the only two people in the room. There was no sign of derision or impatience, just slight mirth and that warmth Cameron remembered from the airport.
“Do you prefer red or white?” Emory asked softly,
“White, please,” Cameron whispered, strangely breathless.
